Crumpets with the Council
by James Is A Dalek
Summary: [Set Straight After The TV Movie] The Eighth Doctor is just starting to enjoy his new body when the Tardis decides to give him a kick in the teeth. But what do the High Council want with him, and what is this new threat of chemical warfare?
1. I

**Crumpets with the Council**

"Oh, not again."

Pushing his head back into the soft backing of the chair, the Doctor sighed. It looked like the words 'peace' and 'quiet' had completely deserted the Tardis database, plunged themselves into the icy depths of n-space and then been eaten by some wild Yeti, or something along those lines.

As he bookmarked his place and found his feet, the Time Lord mused over getting the old girl one of those word-a-day calenders.

It had been not five minutes since he had left Grace back on Earth, and the Doctor's journey had only really just begun. He was back in possession of his memories, all those thoughts that had been accumulated over 800 years of time travel, a (sometimes) reliable time-ship, a new body and a good book.

Oh. And a skipping record player. Yes, there was that element. Still - elements could be easily fixed, as the fool who blended water with fire said, before he was scorched to death in a paddling pool.

Padding over to the record, the Doctor brushed his fingers over the edge of the control unit as he went, showing a curious fondness for his ship. And why shouldn't he? She wasn't a bad old girl, for the most part. She sticked by him and, aside from her habit to skip continents and deliver them into the wrong time period, he couldn't really fault her.

As if in acknowledgment of this gesture, the repetitive note of the stuck record drew to a halt, and the arm of the player lifted away from the spinning disc. The Doctor grinned, a flash of his neat, even white teeth at his ship, before making way back to the chair again. He doubted he'd ever grow weary of those telepathic circuits.

Slipping back into his seat, the Doctor reached to pick up H.G Wells'_ The Time Machine_, but hesitated in the action, slowly drawing his fingers back to rest on his covered stomach. Perhaps not. He had enough gallivanting about the galaxy in his own life, never mind that in fiction. There were better things to do with spare time than read up on adventures synonymous to your own. It almost made you feel... well, _cheap_. Just another character off an entire assembly line of them.

Why darken his day with such trivialities? Earth was safe, for the time being; the Tardis was perfectly silent, save for the quiet hum of machinery that forever pulsed through it's inmost workings; There were no post-it notes, telling him to go save a faraway spaceship or that he was out of milk.

All in all, things were going pretty well.

With the faintest trace of that mirth still on his lips, the Doctor nodded in agreement with his own thoughts. Why indeed?

Setting his feet back atop of the ottoman, the Time Lord settled low amongst the cushions and soft fabrics, a note bordering feline in nature emitted from behind his closed lips. It was the note of contentedness, of mellow happiness and satisfaction with his situation. Just a single sound on the right wavelength could convey so much more than pages upon pages of prose, and he knew it.

Writing down exactly what feelings were blended inside him at that moment would have sent Wells himself spiraling into insanity, as it was impossible. Was is possible to properly document /human/ emotion with pen strokes? And he, only a half-human, had the extra twists that being a Time Lord brought.

Impossible.

With a last, final look around the ship, the Doctor closed his eyes, hands still clasped over his stomach as he slowly drifted away into that slumbersome condition he suddenly craved.

The ghosts of the smile remained on his face.

**-+-**

As the Gallifreyan shifted into a state that wasn't quite unconsciousness, that fickle state of sleep, the gentle hum he had mused over, the gentle hum that was almost a heartbeat, started skipping as the record player.

It was subtle, at first. Unnoticeable to anything and anybody, unless they were gripping a wire and counting the beats. Just a quivering pulse here, an unsteady thump there. Slowly, however, the heart started missing beats completely, while their frequency increased.

Like a body, trying desperately to fight off that tachycardia, the Tardis struggled to regain it's gentle beat. Alas, it was to no avail. The frequency continued to grow, while the skipping jerked wildly.

For roughly ten minutes this continued, the pulse like a ball, bouncing fast between two stone walls. But that ball was prone to be dropped, as there were gaps of five seconds where everything was still, and there was no beat.

And then it stopped.  
For good.


	2. II

It was a rude awakening.

A sudden buck that seemed to vibrate throughout the Tardis threw the Doctor from both his chair and his sleep, and he emerged through what felt like a minor tectonic shift on his knees, having slipped over the harsh, rough floor on them. However, he didn't remain there very long, and had soon scrambled to his feet, finding it need enough to ignore the persistent stinging from the badly scraped skin over his patellas.

The quakes continued, thrashing over each other as waves on a beach, and the Doctor found himself gripping the edge of the control unit to keep upright. Whatever tendrils of sleep had been clinging to his mind were now wrenched away, and he found himself anxiously scanning the Tardis console, eyes flashing from one flashing button to the next.

As impossible as it sounded, as impossible as it seemed, the only conclusion the Doctor could draw was that everything – every control and instrument in sight – was malfunctioning at once. The time/flight stabilizer, the navigational control, the time sensor... even the lights!

Bracing himself against the spasming shockwaves, he struggled around to the power response dials, flicking each of them to 'off', something which should have cut off every unnecessary function.

No such luck.

It was as though everything had been overridden, the remote had been taken from his hands and he now had no way of controlling it. And yet it was still moving, it was still ripping through the fabric of time and space, tearing the fabric and splitting the seams. So if he wasn't controlling it...

...Somebody else was.

Open horror at the realization crawled over his features, and that would be the last thought through his conscious mind - that sickening thought that somebody else had power over his ship – as the next shockwave to hit him would buckle his knees, and he would be sent slamming to the floor, forehead cracking against the control unit as he fell.

Insentience was instant.

-+-

"He has the same hair..."

Slender, feminine fingers were poised close to the screen and, slowly, a set of intricately painted fingernails came to rest on the flickering glass, almost caressing the image there.

"Your excellency?"

Quite aside from the gentle mumble of the first voice, a rougher, unrefined voice entered the sound track, and the male from which it stemmed inched closer to this 'excellency', squinting at the screen.

"He has the same hair, Jeracij, as when I knew him."

Jeracij's features rearranged themselves into the picture of shock. So the legends were true... the excellency had known this renegade Time Lord. She had traveled with him, sailed through the galaxy, even regenerated in his presence... the ancient rumors were true!

A punishable thought skipped quickly along the Councilor's mind, and he hastily shot a few side glances, as if he had thought it too loud, and somebody was liable to hear. Of course, no such thing would ever happen, as mind reading devices of such high perception were strictly banned in the excellency's private quarters.

But... oh, could it also be true that she had once had romantic attachments with this renegade?

Just being in possession of that knowledge would make the Junior Councilor one of the most sought-after beings in the entire galaxy. Yet if he asked, it was very probable he would never see the light of day again.

"Regeneration, madam, is a--"

"I knew perfectly well what regeneration is like, thank you Jeracij." Her excellency snapped, and the male seemed to shrink down inside his clothes.

"He took a fall..." She continued, turning back to the screen. "If there is a single scratch on his body, I am holding you personally responsible. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, your excellency." He stuttered, making a low bow before hastily retreating out of the room, knowing he was lucky to have all limbs still attached to his body.

With her eyes focused intently on the pictures, the Lady President let a sigh pass her lips.


End file.
